


Goodbye, Blue Sky

by Riley_writes



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-29
Updated: 2018-10-29
Packaged: 2019-08-09 10:33:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16448252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Riley_writes/pseuds/Riley_writes
Summary: Written for/to the song "Goodbye, Blue Sky" by Pink Floyd (off of The Wall album). If you haven't heard this song before, I'd recommend it. It's pretty short and definitely beautiful. And, while you're at it, listen to the rest of that album.Warnings: Some historical accuracy. Human names used. Slight implied US/UK. Possible graphic violence described.[Reposted from an old account elsewhere]





	Goodbye, Blue Sky

Arthur sighed, resisting the urge to bang his head into the table. Yet another meeting with the Allies had been wasted, due to petty arguments and squabbles between the nations involved. This was war! Why on Earth couldn't they accomplish anything? Honestly, sometimes he thought France and America tried to bait him and lure him into arguments on purpose; France because he found it amusing and America because he was a lazy, disrespectful child. And, as a result, nothing much was ever accomplished at these meetings, and he would always return to his hotel room with a headache as he tried to drown his frustrations in tea.

Speaking of tea, he was starting to run out of the supply that he'd brought with him from London. Oh, _London_. How he longed to return! How he missed breathing her air, listening to the chimes of Big Ben, the pubs and streets that he knew like the back of his hand. Perhaps it was silly of him, but he'd always loved her. Even in his pirating and colonizing days, he would develop a longing to return to her, to feel at home on her streets and amongst her people—his people. The others would laugh, he knew, if he were to admit to them just how much his capital meant to him. She held his heart and gave him a place to call home, and she would always be his for as long as he lived. Of course, she wasn't another nation or person, so he could never confess to her his sorrows….but just being with her felt comforting and safe.

Hands busied themselves with his papers and briefcase. The others had already left, France and America still snickering, probably about some comment to do with his cooking. Stupid gits. Maybe he'd leave them to their own devices when they got attacked in the future if they were always this ungrateful. The last papers were tucked away, filed neatly in his briefcase. As his hands fiddled with the clasps, muscle memory took over as his mind wandered, lingering fondly over his memories of London. His heart reached out for her, and he closed his eyes, seeing his people as they went about their day. A tired smile touched his lips as the briefcase clicked shut, and he pushed away from the table, resigned to spending another night away from home. He'd probably finish off the last of his supply of tea from home tonight too…

The door to the meeting room opened quietly, a noise that went unnoticed by Arthur, caught up as he was by thoughts of his home and people. The intruder could only stare, forgotten papers that were the reason for returning forgotten again. Alfred couldn't believe it; Arthur was smiling! It had been so long since the last time he could remember the embodiment of England smiling—actually, genuinely smiling—that he found himself at a loss. His heart panged, reminding him that it had been a few hundred years- since before his declaration of independence—that he'd seen Arthur happy. Truly, he hadn't meant to hurt the man by asking for his freedom, but the older nation was stubborn and hadn't wanted to let go. "Ar—England?" He asked quietly, remembering mid-question that Arthur didn't respond well to his name when Alfred was the one using it.

The voice was so quiet that Arthur thought he might have imagined it. When he opened his eyes, however, it was to find Alfred—no, America—standing in the doorway and staring at him. "What is it now, America?" He asked, slightly surprised to find his voice so light. Then again, his thoughts were still occupied by his home.

"You….you were smiling…." Alfred's voice cracked.

"That's what people do when they're happy." Arthur rolled his eyes. "Bloody Yank. Do I not have the right to smile anymore now? Or do you really enjoy seeing me unhappy so much that—" His sentence was abruptly cut off by a strangled choke. Something was wrong….

Arthur grabbed at his head, the scream of jets and bombers ringing in his ears. "No…" Images flashed through his mind; mothers diving to scoop up children and running for bomb shelters, lovers clinging to each other in terror, an elderly woman rocking back and forth and hugging herself. Even with all the preparation and planning, no one could have seen this coming.

_German bombers screamed through the night air over London, each pilot's face anonymous behind a set of goggles and mask. Without a word spoken between them, the pilots lined up in formation, swooping in turns for bombing runs._

"….England?" Alfred's face was worried as he watched the older nation drop his briefcase and stagger backwards, clutching his head and moaning in pain.

_A child stopped in the street, pointing upwards. "Look, mummy! There's an aeroplane up in the sky!" Tears ran down the mother's face as she grabbed the child's arm, tugging her insistently towards the nearest bomb shelter._

"Please, no…" Arthur heard a voice that sounded like his own whisper.

_Bombs began to fall, each one merrily whistling its way to destruction. Screams sounded out a mournful counterpoint as the concussions from the explosions set the beat to a deadly melody. Terror ran rampant, casting a pall over the normally bright city while smoke rose up to meet the sky, causing the world around London to go bleak and black._

Arthur's legs refused to hold him upright any longer, and he collapsed to the floor, no longer aware of his surroundings. His mind was filled with the screams and suffering of his people, his heart filled with very real pain from the destruction of his city and people.

 _Some of his people had made it to safety already, huddling together in the relative security of the bomb shelters. The disorganized masses slowly separated into groups; children who'd lost their parents in the panic, parents whose children were missing, and a few families who'd miraculously managed to stay together. Everyone had the same frightened look in their eyes. 'How could this be happening? This was the sort of thing that stayed on the battlefield, fought against a faceless enemy in a nameless place, not something that came_ _home_ _….' The people worried, wondered, and prayed for their friends, families, and fellow citizens, each hoping to at least survive the night._

One of Arthur's hands had made its way to his chest, fingers tangling in the uniform covering his heart. His eyes were clenched shut, tears freely flowing down his cheeks. Breaths came in short gasps in-between sobs as the horrors continued to play through his mind. It was as if someone had made a movie of his worst nightmare and was forcing him to watch it by playing it directly into his mind. The worst bit, however, was the fact that he knew just how very _real_ the whole thing was. A movie or nightmare would be far easier to handle than the harsh truth before him.

Alfred could only stare at his former 'big brother' through all of this. He watched as Arthur stopped mid-sentence, eyes suddenly with a far-away look in them. Nerveless fingers released their hold on a briefcase, allowing it to clatter carelessly to the floor. "England?" he asked tentatively. Receiving no response, he hovered by the door, confused by this strange turn of events. He watched, mouth open slightly in shock, when the Englishman staggered backwards, uttering muffled cries of pain.

When Arthur's knees hit the floor, hand clutching at his heart, Alfred finally was startled enough out of his shocked state to prompt himself into action. After all, what kind of hero stood by and watched someone suffer? It only took a few steps for the American's long legs to carry him over to the fallen Brit. Kneeling down, Alfred hesitantly placed a hand on Arthur's shoulder, bracing himself for the inevitable shove that had become an automatic response. When it didn't come, Alfred knew it was time to worry. Gently, he moved his hand under the older nation's chin, bringing his face up towards the light.

What he saw there was nearly enough to send him straight into shock again. Arthur never cried unless he was truly hurt. The only other time Alfred had seen tears on the other's face was during his rebellion. The thing that worried his most, however, was the lack of responsiveness on the part of the Englishman. Usually he would have pushed away and called Alfred half a dozen insulting things by now, or at least told him to 'bugger off'. Instead, all he got was…nothing. "Arthur, you're scaring me here. What's going on?"

_The bombers still screamed ahead, engines chewing up the night and its peace. Bombs still fell freely from their formations, landing on people and buildings indiscriminately. Some buildings stood in ruin, some had completely collapsed, and still others burned. The fire crackled gleefully, as if sent by the devil himself to spread pain and destruction to those already terrified by the harbingers of death roaring overhead._

A light voice wove its way into Arthur's thoughts. _America? He must be frightened too…_ Wait…America wasn't a child anymore. So why were his thoughts occupied by this small blond boy, blue eyes wide and staring straight at him while the scenes of destruction carried on around him? _No…please don't take him too!_ Arthur nearly broke at the thought of losing America again. He felt his body go limp, no longer able to fight the sobs that he'd been trying to hold back.

Warm arms wrapped around his shoulders, and he felt himself being pulled into someone's well-muscled chest. The touch was almost comforting, a sort of beacon of hope and strength for a man whose world was literally crumbling around him. His fingers reached out and grabbed weak fistfuls of the unknown's shirt as he buried his face, allowing the tears to flow freely, no longer fighting to hold them back. The beacon of hope said nothing, simply holding him as he slowly cried himself out. Eventually, his mind went blank and he lost consciousness.

Not to say the least, Alfred was surprised. He could have sworn he'd heard Arthur mumble his name, just before he collapsed completely. When Alfred had pulled him in with the intention of perhaps pulling him upright and smacking some sense into him, he'd found the limp figure lying in his arms cling to him with a sort of weak but desperate need. His heart nearly broke as the sobs threatened to break Arthur while he lay shaking in Alfred's arms. No one had noticed just how frail the Englishmen was becoming, due mostly to all the stress placed on his army and nation with the war. Alfred couldn't bring himself to hurt Arthur now, not when he clearly was suffering so much already. He felt a twinge of regret for not noticing this fragility sooner, and not doing something about it.

When Arthur finally lost consciousness, Alfred let him sag into his lap. "Not cool, dude." He murmured softly, gently stroking the unruly blond locks that threatened to tickle his stomach. "We're supposed to be allies, but you're just too stubborn. Why didn't you say you needed help?" Alfred frowned. "Or was I just too oblivious to your words?" His mind wandered, digging through his recent memories of meetings and glimpses of Arthur, trying to see what he had missed.

Arthur regained consciousness slowly and painfully. His head throbbed, ears still rang with the screams of his people. His heart ached, feeling the damage that had been done to his beautiful capital as surely as if it had been done straight to his heart. _Where…am I?_ Thoughts jumbled uselessly in his head as he tried to remember what he'd been doing before…before…. _Oh god, London…._ A tear ran down already damp cheeks from eyes that were puffy and nearly dry. His other senses returned then, and he felt another person's hand stroking his hair while a second arm lay draped over his shoulders. Moments later, it hit him. He had at some point collapsed into someone's lap! But…whose?

Trembling hands reached up to rub at bleary eyes. Alfred jumped a little, having not noticed Arthur stirring in his lap. His fingers ceased their absent-minded stroking and he contented himself with watching as the Brit tried to pull himself back together. Slowly, Arthur sat up, confusion and pain still evident in his eyes. "So, dude. You gonna be okay?" Alfred asked.

Arthur jumped. That was definitely the last voice he'd expected to hear after finding himself passed out in another's lap. _It could be worse, I suppose. It could have been France…_ He bit the inside of his cheek gently and tried to regain his former composure. "Of course…" he frowned at the tremble in his voice. "Bloody hell, Al—America. What are you still doing here?" He refused to meet the worried blue eyes in front of him, instead staring angrily down at his hands, silently ordering them to stop shaking and betraying him.

Alfred reached out hesitantly, only to have his hand knocked away impatiently. He frowned again. _Oh, to hell with it!_ Before Arthur could stop him, he pulled the older man into a hug, firmly trapping the other against his chest. He could feel Arthur stiffen in shock before trying to push away, struggles that were far weaker than they should be. After a moment, Arthur gave up, deciding to wait the American out. "What happened?"

Arthur blinked. It was unusual for Alfred to be this straightforward. His mouth—traitor that it was—began to answer for him before his foggy brain could make sense of the situation. "I…hurt…" he mumbled into Alfred's shirt. "London…hurts…." His shoulders shook with repressed sobs, eyes too dry and tired to shed more tears.

Alfred rested his chin on top of Arthur's head, glad the smaller man had stopped struggling. "Germany?"

A muted sniffle. "Yes."

Gently, he pulled Arthur back, lifting his chin and forcing him to meet his gaze. "He'll pay." Alfred was surprised by the vehemence in his own voice. "I'll protect you now. Just remember, I'm the Hero!"

Arthur chuckled weakly, scrubbing at his eyes with the back of his hand. "Git. What makes you think I need protecting?"

"I'll cut you some slack, since you didn't see yourself just now." Alfred's face was nothing short of serious. "I may be the Hero, but even I'm not invincible. None of us can do everything on our own. Not even you."

Arthur stared into his former colony's blue eyes, their color reminding him of the clear skies that had been over London only a few hours previously. He could detect nothing amiss, and was forced to recognize the sincerity. Shoulders slumped in defeat, no longer able to keep up a brave façade. "Fine. You can bloody help…" Whatever else he'd been planning to say was cut off abruptly as Alfred pulled him into another hug, face beaming like the sun.

**Author's Note:**

> Lyrics to the song:
> 
> [Child] "Look mummy, there's an aeroplane up in the sky"
> 
> Did you see the frightened ones?  
> Did you hear the falling bombs?  
> Did you ever wonder why we had to run for shelter when the  
> promise of a brave new world unfurled beneath a clear blue sky?
> 
> Did you see the frightened ones?  
> Did you hear the falling bombs?  
> The flames are all gone, but the pain lingers on.
> 
> Goodbye, blue sky  
> Goodbye, blue sky.  
> Goodbye.  
> Goodbye.  
> Goodbye.
> 
> Historical reference: The German Blitz against English cities.
> 
> en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Blitz
> 
> This story vaguely references the period of time during the second world war where German bombers set out on air raids and bombing runs across English cities. Actual dates, casualty numbers and details are left out. This story is meant to focus on the relationship between England and his capitol as well as the relationship between America and England. This historical reference is mostly incidental.
> 
> Yes, I'm aware that this song was not written about the Blitz. This is still the meaning that I've derived from the lyrics and the feelings I get from it. And I think it fits rather nicely anyways.


End file.
